A Christmas to Remember (A Christmas Special)
by Alethea Aethelreda
Summary: When Zorro finally gets up the courage to reveal his identity to Victoria, she reacts in ungoverned anger which may result in dire consequences. In the style of Dickens' A Christmas Carol, Victoria learns a valuable lesson about anger management, forgiveness, love, and second chances from some special supernatural visitors.
1. Stave One: A Woman's Fury

** A Christmas to Remember ( A Christmas Special)**

**(****_A Christmas Carol_**** as enacted by the characters of the New World Zorro)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of the New World Zorro material, nor am I profiting by writing this story. You may recognize whole lines from Dickens' marvelous ****_A Christmas Carol_****, which is in the public domain. Since the producers already did "It's a Wonderful Zorro," I figured this would fit right in naturally. Dickens actually wrote his novella in 1843, a bit late to be used by Zorro, but since the spirits can clearly bend time in Dickens' version, I hope he would not mind. **

**This is unabashedly one of those ubiquitous Christmas specials. My sons think they are schmaltzy; my mother and I happen to like them. I have also chosen to stick firmly within the show's background world of Spanish Catholicism and Dickens' emphasis on the Christmas spirit. I chose to focus on Victoria, who learns a valuable lesson about anger management, forgiveness, and second chances from some special supernatural visitors.**

**Feliz Navidad to you all! I hope you like it – I've been working on it since early October.**

**Stave One: A Woman's Fury**

It was the night before Christmas eve, and Victoria stood in her room in front of the mirror brushing her hair until it shone like ebony. She was dressed in her best red flounced skirt and a white ruffled blouse. At her throat, she wore a beautiful necklace of pearls which Zorro had given to her. Her eyes gleamed in anticipation because she expected her masked hero to visit her later that night. She did not know that he had chosen that very night as a special occasion in which to give her the best Christmas present he could imagine, the secret to his identity and a full share in his life and his heart.

She did not have long to wait. As soon as the pueblo had grown silent for the night, Zorro arrived. When he stepped through the window, he caught his breath, and she felt warmed by his admiration. She prepared to rush into his arms, but he stood stiff and uncertainly beside the window through which he had just entered. He held up one hand pleadingly, "Querida, please just listen to me. I barely have the courage to go through with this as it is. I told you once that the man in this mask fears only one thing in this world: that you love a hero with whom he cannot possibly compete. I have waited too long in fear of your rejection. I must know now whether you can love the man behind the mask." With surprising agility and lithe grace, he took a few steps forward and knelt before her. He lifted his hands to the mask and untied the knots. The mask fell away, but his head remained humbly bowed.

"Diego?!" she exclaimed in a voice that shook and almost squeaked in the surprise and tension of the moment. He looked up sharply, his eyes a well of anxiety. She looked into the familiar yet somehow unfamiliar face and felt paralyzed and confused. Then she took a step back and mustered all the force in her arm before slapping him sharply across the face. "How dare you!" she hissed. "You lied to me! Have you been playing with me all along?! How could you?" Part of her was aware that she was overreacting and might regret it later. The other part of her reveled in creating a scene and allowing her temper to rage uncontrolled. It gave her a momentary release from the tension. In the back of her mind, a voice whispered that she was burning her bridges and might regret this later, but never one to temper her thoughts or actions, she pushed on nevertheless. She remembered when she was a very young child and had thrown temper-tantrums to get her father's attention. She had carried on beyond the time when the tantrum was real and pushed herself all the further because she almost liked the sensation of raging out of control. It terrified her and fascinated her at the same time.

Diego's face grew pale, and his lips trembled as he pleaded, "No, Victoria. Please listen. I love you. I love you more than life itself. I never played with you. I meant every word. I love you and only you! I was trying to protect you. Please forgive me. I never met to hurt you."

She said nothing, and the silence stretched uncomfortably.

At last, Diego spoke again, "Please, will you let me explain?"

She drew her hand back again as if to strike, and he flinched away and stood out of her reach. "No! What is there to explain? I don't trust you! How can I feel anything for a man I can't trust? Forgive you? I don't think so! I waited all these years for Zorro, and you turn out to be Diego? Get out!"

"Querida, please," he said in a voice that revealed he was near tears.

"Get out!" She grabbed the nearest thing at hand, her set of combs and brushes, and hurled them onto the floor in her rage. He sidestepped quickly, and they clattered at his feet. "Get out!" she sobbed again. "I never want to see you again!"

Picking up his mask from the floor and retying it, Zorro hurried to the window. With unspeakable depths of sorrow in his eyes, he put one foot over the sill and turned back towards her. "Even angry, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Victoria, I will always love you, but without you, there can be no Zorro." He pulled a single red rose from his sash, kissed it, and tossed it onto the floor at her feet as he disappeared from view.

Victoria stood rooted to the spot, her cheeks aflame with color and her bosom heaving with wild, churning emotions. Despite the cauldron boiling within her, she felt oddly empty. She also felt ashamed. Never had she lost her temper so badly before. Her thoughts were in a whirling chaos. Memories of Zorro's sweet kisses and words of endearment mingled with images of Diego's shy kindness and friendship. But she turned away and indulged her wrath.

"No," she told herself. "I am right to be angry. Let him come crawling to me. I will not forgive him so easily!"


	2. Stave Two: A Mysterious Visitor

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of the New World Zorro material, nor am I profiting by writing this story. Stave, by the way, is a musical term for a set of verses or a stanza. Dickens wrote ****_A Christmas Carol_**** in five staves. Feliz Navidad!**

**Stave Two: A Mysterious Visitor**

It was mid-day on Christmas Eve. The tavern was busy for the noon meal. This would be the last meal served before closing time. Victoria had planned to accept an invitation to the de la Vega Christmas gathering, but now she felt that she could not do so. She nursed her anger and refused to look at her actions as her self-righteous wrath increased. She hated him, she told herself. He had deceived her and made her wait for years just to find out he was only Diego.

"Only Diego?" a voice whispered in her mind. Diego hardly seemed the man to inspire anyone's ire. Maybe she had been unfair, but she pushed her conscience fiercely down and resolutely stoked the flames of her anger.

When Diego and Alejandro entered, her eyes nearly cast sparks. Diego looked at her curiously, and she knew he had come to town just to see if she were ready to talk. That he would assume she would forgive him made her all the angrier. She stalked past him rudely and would not look in his direction. She sent someone else to take their order and determinedly avoided their table. When Diego excused himself from the table and followed her into the kitchen, she whirled on him like a tigress. "I thought I made myself clear, Diego de la Vega. Get out! You are not welcome in my tavern now or ever again! Get out!"

"Victoria," he pleaded." He held out a letter to her. "Please just read this," he whispered. She could see that he had spent a sleepless night and had probably even cried, but she told herself she didn't care. In fact, she could almost take a perverse delight in causing him pain because he had hurt her. She snatched the letter from his hands, deliberately ripped it into pieces, and threw them into the kitchen fireplace. He backed up as though she had slapped him again.

"If that is what you want... But know this: this is not what I want. I love you, Victoria, and I still want to marry you. But I won't come where I'm not wanted. I can only hope that when you calm down, you will see reason and listen to me."

"Never!" she hissed. She picked up the nearest pitcher of water and threw the whole thing, pitcher and all at Diego. With the speed and dexterity characteristic of Zorro, he caught the pitcher as it sloshed water all over his caballero suit and set it carefully down on the counter. "Get out!" she repeated firmly.

Diego ground his teeth together to prevent an angry retort, spun on his heel, and left the kitchen hurriedly. He marched right past Don Alejandro and out of the tavern to where Esperanza waited for him. He kicked her sides harder than usual and thundered out of the pueblo at a gallop, leaving his father gaping behind him in astonishment.

Victoria suddenly felt limp and drained. The fire in her brain threatened to consume her, and she felt even more ashamed of her lack of control than she had last night. Should she go after him? But if she did, what would she say? She told herself that she had been right to be angry, that she would allow him to feel the full force of her wrath for a while to give herself time to think and consider.

Feeling ill at ease and knowing that her face was flaming red, she found her assistant, Pilar, and made arrangements for Pilar to close the tavern in an hour. Then she excused herself and went up to her room. Lifting her hands to splash water up around her fevered temples, she plunged her face into a basin of cold water which stood on the small table in her room. Even that was not enough to still the fevered beating of her heart. Every beat dinned in her ears and made her feel faint.

As she dried her face, her eyes lighted on the small needlework sampler that adorned the wall just above her wash basin. It had been worked by her grandmother years ago. The words were in an elegant Spanish script, and the border was surrounded by pink, white, and red roses connected by fancy swirls and scrolls. The background had become antiqued and ivoried with age. Although imperfect in execution in places because it had been the work of her grandmother's girlhood, it was, nonetheless, beautiful. But it was the text that convicted Victoria at this moment. The largest word at the top, La Caridad (_Love_) was beautifully worked in ornate stitches. The text her grandmother had chosen came from the Bible, from the first letter of Saint Paul to the church at Corinth: "Todo lo sufre, todo lo cree, todo lo espera, todo lo soporta. La caridad nunca deja de ser" ("_Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends_.") Victoria shuddered miserably as she contemplated what those words meant for her relationship with Don Diego. At last, she lay down on her bed. She was still trembling in anger and emotional distress.

It was some time later when Victoria sat up in bed. She looked around her and saw that the fire was burning low. It cast flickering shadows around her room and left the corners in gloom. She was startled to see a woman sitting in the darkness beside the window. The woman's profile was turned toward her, but even so, Victoria could see her shining silver hair and had a fleeting impression of a look of unutterable weariness and sadness upon the woman's face. The woman held a crushed rose cradled in her hands; the rose Zorro had dropped as he left earlier that evening. Victoria didn't even remember what had happened to it after Diego had gone.

"Who? Who are you?" whispered Victoria through lips thick with sleep, tears, and confusion.

The woman did not turn toward her but replied in a low voice, "Ask me not who I am but who I was in life. But even this, I am not permitted to tell you yet." Then her tone became much sharper as she exclaimed, "Victoria Escalante, what I am to do with you? You are too rash and hot-tempered for your own good. Do you realize, you foolish girl, that you have thrown away your only chance for happiness today!? Do you understand that you have crushed the heart of one of the most loyal, brave, and romantic men who ever lived? Do you never think about the consequences of your actions?"

A protest in her own self-defense rose rapidly to Victoria's mind, "But he..." she began, yet the words died on her lips.

"You are right to fall silent. A good and noble man has offered you his hand and his heart. He may be an ideal and a legend, but I assure you that he has a heart which may be all too easily broken by you." The woman scolded Victoria as if she were a foolish child, yet compassion was not lacking in the undertone beneath her words.

Victoria hung her head and did not know what to say.

"Still," said the woman, "it is Christmas and a time for miracles. I have been sent to tell you that you will be visited by three spirits. It is a chance which I have long pleaded for and have at last been granted. Do not squander your opportunities, Victoria. You must learn to think and reflect before you act. Learn to rule that passionate heart with an equally wise head, just as Diego does."

"Diego?" whispered Victoria through trembling lips.

"If you do not, you will end up like me, an old, bitter woman, alone and friendless in the world. And Zorro. . . Diego will face an untimely end. Expect the first visitor when the bell tolls one o'clock. Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third, upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate."

"But..." Victoria began to protest as the fireplace crackled and spluttered, drowning out her words. She looked desperately toward the rocking chair where the woman had been, but the mysterious visitor was already gone. A few rose petals remained on the seat where she had been but a moment before.

Victoria felt alone and hollow. Her heart beat in her throat so loudly that she thought it would choke her, yet through the silence in the room, she could hear the ticking of a clock. It sounded artificially loud and filled her with terror. "Humbug!" she said to herself. "I will not believe it." She rolled over in bed and pulled the covers firmly over her head.


	3. Stave 3: The First of the Three Spirits

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of the New World Zorro material, nor am I profiting by writing this story. Stave, by the way, is a musical term for a set of verses or a stanza. As of stave three, I am now freely borrowing my "stave" titles from Dickens. Feliz Navidad! **

**Stave Three: The First of the Three Spirits**

Victoria was awakened by the pealing of a bell. Somewhere, away in the pueblo, the church bell pealed urgently. It was tolling the hour of one, the hour foretold by her mysterious visitor. She opened her eyes to strain against total darkness. The fire had gone out. Suddenly, a bright light, as though from a shimmering torch, illumined the chamber. She blinked her eyes against the glare and had the impression that a man stood beside her bed. He was dressed in the suit of a caballero, but it was somehow silvery and shiny. The ruffled shirt was snowy white yet caught the light with reflective glitters. The jacket and pants were either light blue or light gray and were similarly prone to shimmer in the shifting light. The man's hair was flowing and silver, giving the impression of age, but his physique was lean and powerful, giving a contrasting impression of youth and vigor. Was she only imagining it, or did the light streaming into the chamber somehow emanate from his hair and countenance? She was confused by his shifting appearance and unable to decide exactly what it was she saw. His face bore an odd resemblance to Don Alejandro de la Vega, yet she could not be sure. He looked at her with the eyes of a stranger, yet they were kind eyes, and she fancied that he was regarding her with a hint of sadness.

She swallowed convulsively and started up from the bed. "Are you the first of the spirits whose visit was foretold to me?" she asked on a whisper.

"Sí, señorita," he said in a soft and gentle voice. His voice was curiously low, almost as if it came to her across a vast distance even though he stood right at her elbow. "I am the spirit whose task it is to show you past events from a perspective you were not granted to see in life. If you come with me willingly, I will show you windows on your past to help illumine your present path. But you must understand that what you see are shadows only, events that have already occurred. You have no power to alter them or interact with them. You will be a mere spectator on the scene."

Victoria stood beside the second story window of the tavern looking down in bewilderment. Her guide touched her arm. "Bear but the touch of my hand here, and you shall travel with me," he said. His hand gently brushed against the region of her heart, and she felt a sudden pang of regret at the way she had treated Don Diego. Then it was gone. The man's hand was on her arm again, gently supporting her. He led her to the window, and somehow, they were over the sill and outside. She wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but somehow, she was traveling with him.

Victoria watched as images formed, shifted, and drifted away in a kaleidoscope of memory and color. Briefly, she saw herself as a young child standing beside her mother and lighting the Christmas candles. She saw her brothers seated around the table with some of Mama's best Christmas pastries. Her father was sitting back in the corner and smiling benevolently at his family. Yet the memory was not without pain. Victoria remembered that only hours earlier, she had threatened the peace of the whole family with her sudden outburst of temper. Her mother had calmed her down, prayed with her, and recited the words of a traditional psalm of penance as they lighted the Christmas candles.

Then she saw a scene from several years later when they had been invited to a large Christmas gathering at the de la Vega hacienda. It was just before Diego left for Spain, and she remembered again how handsome she had thought him then. He had been kind and polite to her, although there was no reason he should take notice of the awkward colt of a girl several years his junior. He had caught her arguing with another young guest in the garden; their voices raised in anger had brought him to serve as a wise and just peace-maker. She recalled how embarrassed she had been that he had seen her lose her temper like that. He spoke to her kindly and counseled that she save her fiery temper for the things that really mattered. She had never forgotten his counsel, although she acknowledged ruefully that she had not always followed it.

More images spun into view, shimmered and coalesced with a dizzying rate, and then dissipated like mists to be replaced by other memories just as vivid. She recognized the scenes, but her perspective on them seemed shifted, just as her host had promised. She soon realized that they were not all related to Christmas, but they did have several things in common. The scenes she was shown seemed to be of two types: they either reminded her of times when she had been quick to anger or they revealed the true character and nature of the man she had so heartlessly rejected. Both made her feel shame, regret, and longing.

The scene before her now was the day that Alejandro de la Vega had first reintroduced her to Diego after his return home from Spain. Diego had seemed manly, courageous, and determined upon first impressions. He had interposed himself between her and danger and had stood up for what was right. Although she herself had pled for justice and raised her voice in righteous anger that day, Diego's cooler head had prevailed. Then Zorro had appeared. Watching now, she realized that the appearance of Zorro on the scene at the same time as Diego's arrival and transformation into an effete, scholarly dandy were a coincidence that should have made her suspicious.

A few more images spun by and then resolved themselves into a longer scene. She saw Diego sitting beside a woman in a bed, and then she gasped when she recognized herself. It was when she had been shot instead of Zorro. She watched in wonder and amazement as Diego nursed her and whispered the deepest longings of his heart. He was holding her hand tenderly as he spoke. "I've been forced to postpone much of what a man my age should be doing. Like building a life with the woman I love." He paused and gazed down at her. "The woman I love lies here dying." He tenderly stroked her forehead, pushing a lock of her hair back into place as he added, "If you die, Victoria, Zorro will die with you." He raised her hand to his lips once again, and a tear rolled down his cheek. From where Victoria stood as a silent observer, she felt humbled and chastened to see what had happened when she was lying unconscious. Her near death had almost broken him, and she was startled and warmed by the vulnerability he had never displayed publically.

The scene shifted and shimmered and resolved itself into her garden rendezvous with Zorro after her recovery. Of course, the de la Vega garden, Zorro's gallantry, that kiss. . . It all made sense now. She hadn't realized the long hours of love and devotion and quiet watching that had led up to his behavior that night. He had offered her marriage to Diego, but she had been too blind to realize the import of his words. Would she have responded differently if she had known then? Or would she still have responded in anger? It humbled her to realize that she was not certain.

The world spun beneath her again, and she was watching in the shadows at the mission orphanage. Diego and the Victoria she observed were reading to the children. Diego was reading with great expression, and she could see the delight on the faces of the children. She had taken his reading to the children for granted before, but from her vantage point here, she could see the love he poured into each one of them. He was graceful and smooth, and his behavior was totally natural. There was none of the overly scientific or clumsy detachment in the way he interacted with the children. Why hadn't she noticed it before? And that he would share the time with her was doubly precious. Why had she been too blind to see that he was being very real beside her? A tear slid down her cheek.

Her attentive guide turned to her with a gentle inquiry, "What is it, my dear?"

"It is nothing," she responded. But when her guide looked straight into her eyes, she knew she could not hide the truth from him. "It is nothing. . . only that I wish I had seen Diego as he truly was."

"That is something, I think then," came the gentle response. Another tear slipped down Victoria's cheek as the scene around her began to tilt and change.

Now she found herself again in the old abandoned windmill with Diego, where they had been caught by a storm and forced to take refuge on the way home from Santa Paula , but this time, she was watching as an outsider. She saw him struggle against Victoria's cruel words as she deliberately teased and baited him, accusing him of doing nothing. She cringed at her own behavior. She watched as he gallantly surrendered his warm jacket and gently put it around her shoulders. His hands lingered on her shoulders and arms for a moment, and he almost drew her into an embrace. For just a moment, the love and devotion of Zorro had shone from his eyes, and then the veil came down again. There was a look of infinite sadness in his features as he turned aside and kept resolutely to his side of the bench. She admired his iron will. Why had she misunderstood it that night? Instead, she had cast his chivalry and concern for propriety into his teeth and quoted love poetry that should have made her blush. She blushed out of shame and regret now.

"This, too, I believe is something," gently chided the mysterious man in white.

"It is only that I wished I had paid more attention to Diego and spent less time telling him that he never did anything that mattered," she acknowledged on a trembling whisper as more tears streamed down her cheeks, unheeded. "I wish that I had not belittled him, yet he always forgave me."

The scene shifted beneath her feet again. When the images coalesced, she was a spectator in the shadows of Zorro's cave. It was the day in which he had mistakenly stopped her wagon and then rescued her from the banditos, and they had had their first quarrel. She remembered it half fondly now. She had reacted graciously then, far differently from the recent tirade she had thrown in his face. "The man in this mask fears only one thing in this world," he was saying, "That you love a hero with whom he cannot possibly compete." Victoria watched herself hasten to add promises and reassurances. She had pledged that she loved the man behind the mask, the man who loved justice and showed courage. Now, from her place in the shadows, unseen and unheard, she sobbed bitterly. She felt that she had violated every promise she had made to him that day. Her kindly guide squeezed her hand to draw her attention back to the scene replaying before her. Diego was just about to reveal his identity to Victoria as she sat in the chair when the alarm system went off in the cave. Zorro rushed to the wall where he looked out. Victoria as a spectator was somehow beside him this time and witnessed his last minute cutting of the cable which would have raised the secret door and allowed the banditos access into the secret gave. His quick thinking and action had been the only things that saved them both from disaster that day. She admired how he always did what was required before he let emotions sway him. His courage and wits rose to any challenge. She saw his skin grow pale beneath the mask, as he whispered, "How could I have been so stupid? No, Victoria, you can never know." She wished she had been there beside him at that moment instead of trapped over in the chair by her badly sprained ankle. If ever there was a moment for taking him in her arms and insisting on sharing his future, that was it. She wished fervently that she had refused to leave without knowing his secret that day. Instead, she had agreed to marry him sight unseen and then left the cave in a state of unconsciousness induced by cactus tea.

The scene shifted and shimmered again. Felipe and Diego were hard at work in the cave. Felipe was bent over an elaborate wood carving as he made a pencil case for someone's gift. Diego was polishing a particularly fine bit of wood carving. "Yes, amigo," he was saying to Felipe, "It did turn out rather well. I don't know whether I will keep doing woodworking. Somehow, it's not as rewarding as science. Still, I wanted these things for Victoria to be extra special. It did take my mind off other worries and . . . things I don't want to think about. I don't know when I will ever be able to give them to her." Diego's voice fell into sadness as Felipe ran his hands over the exquisite details. Victoria the spectator gasped when she saw what he had made. An ornately carved rocking chair adorned with carved roses and scrollwork sat on the floor where Diego was polishing it. Next to it was a lovely cradle, the type of work that would become an heirloom kept in a family for generations and was clearly intended for a beloved infant. Diego had made those for her when he never even knew he would ever get to present them to her? Was there no end to the man's talents? Victoria's attention was drawn back to Diego as he sighed, "I don't suppose it will be this Christmas, anyway."

Felipe signed a question to him and he considered a moment before responding.

"Yes, Felipe, Zorro does have a very romantic gift for Victoria," he admitted with a blush. "See, here, I made this rosewood box and filled it with poetry and rose petals." He showed a beautifully carved box to Felipe. "There is also a leather-embossed journal with a rose on the front. I don't really know if she keeps a journal, but I thought she might like it. Then I made this vial of rose perfume. It smells just like the garden at sunrise. I hope she likes them." Victoria realized that Felipe was laughing at him, and Diego ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Sí, tease me all you want. Someday, you will understand," his voice held a warm smile, then he lowered it slightly as he added, "It's unfortunate that Diego will have to give her a boring and prosaic gift – as dull, boring, and prosaic as he is. I got her this book of poetry. Some of it is quite lovely, but it is all very. . . safe and tame and impersonal."

Felipe shook his head and caught Diego's eye. He made the sign of the Z, the mark of Zorro in the air between them. "Sí," sighed Diego, "but sometimes I almost hate Zorro." He let his strong fist crash onto the countertop for emphasis. "How ridiculous to be jealous of myself! Yet I have no assurance that Victoria will ever see me, the man behind the mask. I have made my alter ego too enticing." He ended on a note of bitterness. "Deception, even with the best of motives, is a dangerous web and one best avoided." He bowed his head in thought for a moment, and Felipe came to stand beside him, placing his hand gently on Diego's arm.

" Felipe, I have to tell her! I can't go on like this, not knowing what she will say when she learns Zorro and Diego are one, not knowing whether she can ever accept a flesh and blood man as her husband and lover, not knowing whether I will ever measure up against my own phantom. I can't keep waiting! Perhaps now is the time to tell her everything. - This will either be the best Christmas ever, or it will be the end to all my dreams."

Victoria, the watcher, raised her hand to her mouth and sobbed silently. "What is it, daughter?" her guide asked with compassion, but she found she could not answer.

The scene shifted yet again, and Victoria stood in the tavern watching herself face Zorro as he took his mask off. She saw now the look of love, devotion, and utter vulnerability on his features. She had missed them before. Perhaps she had been too focused on herself. He glanced up at Victoria with hope in his eyes, and she did the unthinkable. From the corner of the room where she stood as a shadow and a watcher, Victoria gasped and cried out, "No, don't!" But her words had no effect. She was a mere spectator. She was forced to watch her other self as she slapped Diego with a ringing blow. Both Victorias watched in nervous horror for his reaction. Only one was calm enough to understand the enormity of the deed and read the consequences in his reaction. She turned to the mysterious guide beside her and pleaded, "No! Please don't show me any more! I can't bear it! I can't! Oh, I am so sorry!"

"This is simply the past as it happened. That these shadows are what they are, do not blame me," he responded.

In the room, the Victoria who was enacting the scene had warmed up to a fever pitch, ranting and raving. Victoria, the watcher, felt desperate. She had the odd sensation that if she could just stop the light that streamed all around her and seemed to be coming from her host's head or face, she could stop the horror of the full force of these memories. She lifted her shawl from her shoulders and flung it over his head. He sank into nothingness on the floor, and she collapsed beside him, holding the shawl down, and blocking out the light.

She suddenly became aware that she was in her bed, wrestling with the blankets. The man she thought she had been traveling with was gone. Had it all been a dream? She fervently wished that her angry scene with Diego had been a nightmare, something that could be washed away in the warm light of day, but she knew all too well that it was real. She had really acted that way. She knelt and said a prayer of sincere confession and contrition, begging for a chance to make things right with Diego, imploring the heavens for a chance to leave her childish temper behind and learn to control her emotions with wisdom and maturity. Then she lay down in her bed and fell into a deep sleep.


	4. Stave 4: The Second of the Three Spirits

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of the New World Zorro material, nor am I profiting by writing this story. Stave, by the way, is a musical term for a set of verses or a stanza. The title of this stave is freely borrowed from Dickens. Feliz Navidad! **

**Stave Four: The Second of the Three Spirits**

From somewhere in the distance, Victoria heard the pealing of the mission bells again. One? How could that be? Had a whole day passed again? She looked around her room, but it was eclipsed in darkness. She let out a sigh. The hour of one had come and passed, and yet the second visitor had not appeared. Perhaps it had all been the result of her overactive imagination and her guilt after all.

Gradually, she became aware that a light was glowing outside her room. On trembling legs, she rose from the bed and tiptoed towards the door. She opened the door and peeked into the hall. The light appeared to be coming from the dining room below. She gingerly stepped through the hall and put her foot upon the steps. She gasped in astonishment. It was her tavern all right. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The stairs and railings were festooned with living green. The walls and ceiling looked as though they supported an entire grove of holly, mistletoe, and ivy. Shiny red berries peeped out amidst the dark, glossy green leaves. The air was heavy with the scent of holly and pine. Although she took pride in decorating her establishment for Christmas, this was something beyond her wildest dreams. And in the midst of the veritable wonderland, Mendoza was sitting at a table piled high with food and was just finishing off a plate of tamales. He was surrounded by more food than she had ever seen before, and it fairly sparkled and glistened in the unusual light. There was turkey, suckling pig, and roast lamb. There were sausages, pies, empanadas, tortillas, flans, Spanish oranges, lemons, steaming soups, and fragrant stews. Victoria thought briefly that if she had been a veritable army, it would have taken her weeks to prepare that much food.

"Ah, Victoria, come here, my dear," he said in a kind and hearty voice. "Come here and know me better."

Victoria approached somewhat timidly and hung her head in shame that he had come here because she had not been able to control her temper and had broken the heart of Zorro. She knew her anger had been unwarranted and that she had chosen to allow herself to lose control, and though the spirit's eyes were clear and kind, she did not like to meet them.

Now that she looked more closely, she was no longer certain that it was Mendoza. The man certainly looked like Mendoza, but somehow, he was drawn on larger lines. He was hale and hearty, somewhat taller than she remembered him, and spoke with a deeper, more resonant voice. He wore an elaborate, festive caballero suit fit for an audience with the king. Gold and silver scrollwork cascaded in elegant swirls down the rich, deep green fabric, and fluffy white ruffles adorned his shirt. Curiously, he wore an antique scabbard clasped about his waist, but there was no sword in it. Indeed, the ancient sheath had been eaten up with rust.

"I am the Spirit of Christmas Present," he explained in a booming voice. "It is my honor to show you events which are transpiring this Christmas season and are still happening now. But remember, you are a mere watcher only. No one will be able to hear or see you." He picked up a glowing torch with which to light their way and turned toward her expectantly.

"Sí, señor, I am ready to learn whatever lesson you have to teach me. I learned a lesson from your brother, the first spirit, and I know it is working in my heart even now. Conduct me where you will."

"Touch my sleeve," commanded the cheery caballero, and Victoria did so. In an instant, she could see the holly, ivy, and mistletoe fading away. The red berries and festoons of greenery, the turkey and sausage, the oranges and lemons – all disappeared in an instant to be replaced with another scene. They now stood in a room which was still decorated nicely for Christmas. She soon recognized it as the de la Vega hacienda.

The de la Vegas, father and son, stood side by side looking into a mirror. Don Alejandro was putting the finishing touches on his Christmas cravat. He was looking elegant and imposing in a black and silver caballero suit. Diego looked immaculate in a pale blue suit with a silvery gray necktie. Victoria had a fleeting thought that this was one of her favorites of Diego's wardrobe, for the coloring made him look particularly handsome. Then she bit her lip resolutely, trying to push such thoughts from her mind.

"You look spectacular tonight, Diego," the older don was saying. "But smile! It's Christmas. Try to remember this is a happy occasion." When Diego did not respond, he continued, "I have invited several families with lovely señoritas this evening. Don Sebastian and his daughter Alicia will be here. The de la Palmas will be here with their daughters, Angelina and Aurelia. Don Emilio will be here with his daughter Magdalena..."

Diego held up one hand imploringly. "Father, please, I have agreed to come to the Christmas fiesta even though I am not feeling quite well this evening, but I refuse to be thrown at every eligible young lady in the territory."

"But Diego, it is high time you married. It is your duty to marry and produce heirs to the de la Vega line. Most men would consider it a privilege and an honor, not mere duty. What is wrong with you, Diego? Don't you care about your heritage?" Don Alejandro was growing exasperated as he revisited one of his favorite subjects, and the subject which his son most dreaded.

"Father, I must ask you never to bring up this painful topic again!" Diego exclaimed with unwonted forcefulness. When he saw the stricken expression on his father's face, he continued, "I am sorry to have to be so stern, but there are many things you do not understand and which I cannot explain." Diego spoke with greater authority and heat than his father had ever heard from him.

Don Alejandro looked absolutely stunned.

Diego relented slightly, but his face was sad as he added, "I loved someone. I. . . I do love someone, have loved her for years. In fact, I still love her passionately and with my whole heart. But she will never have me, and I can never love another. Please don't ask me to do the impossible."

"Diego!" exclaimed Don Alejandro. "Who is this mysterious woman who has broken your heart? Surely, you cannot let the bad judgment of one woman rob you of future happiness. Time will heal the wound. You will see. Make a start tonight with one of the lovely señoritas at our Christmas party. This could be a new beginning for you."

"Father, the subject is closed. I would expect you of all people to be able to understand my wishes. _You _never remarried after Mother's death. If you want me to remain in California, I must ask you never to reopen this subject, which can only be painful to both of us. Right now, I find that I do not care where I live, or whether I live at all." Don Diego spoke very coldly then gritted his teeth and turned away. Don Alejandro was speechless. Victoria watched as Diego brushed away a single tear. How she longed to stretch out her hand and wipe that tear away!

Diego surreptitiously escaped into the library and down the secret staircase to Zorro's lair. Although she was not conscious of how the scene shifted, Victoria and her spirit guide followed him. She recognized the elaborately furnished cavern where Zorro had once taken her. In the corner of one section of the cave, there stood the beautiful rocking chair and cradle. Diego remained still for a moment, regarding them in silence. Then, he ran his hand caressingly over the carved wood of first one and then the other, relinquishing his dream with a sigh of unutterable weariness. He took a deep, velvety crimson rose from the vase at his desk, held it to his lips briefly, then crumpled the petals slowly, sprinkling them into the cradle and onto the floor. "Thus dies the dream," he sighed. "Goodbye, Victoria," he whispered. He pressed his fingertips against his eyes and willed himself not to cry. He sat for a long moment, composing his features into blandness again and then headed reluctantly back up the staircase to rejoin the party. This time, Victoria and the spirit did not follow him. If Victoria had not seen the angst on his features, she would not have believed such a moment had ever existed. Diego could hide even his deepest emotions. She regretted every little stinging remark she had made to him, and the more serious insults made her wonder why he ever loved her in the first place. If she ever got a second chance, she would remember that he was more sensitive than he appeared.

The cave, the rocking chair, and the cradle all faded from view as the Spirit of Christmas Present whirled Victoria on to a different scene. Scenes and images flowed past rapidly in a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors, a swirling symphony of Christmas songs and carols, and all the other sights, scents, and sounds of a traditional Spanish Christmas eve. She was shown several scenes of families happily celebrating Christmas eve together. Children crowded merrily around the fireplace and played with spinning tops while their elders gathered around tables laden with food and drink. Mothers snuggled little boys and girls in their arms while they listened to their husbands leading evening prayer. Groups of neighbors stood outside windows caroling and laughing. Even the torch her guide carried seemed to hold its own mystery, for Victoria noticed that in each of the houses where they stopped, this generous spirit seemed to sprinkle love and good cheer around him, augmenting the feast and victuals that were already on the table. The hearth fires seemed to glow a little more brightly and a little more warmly when he entered the room. Once or twice, when family members or children seemed to be quarreling, he simply shed a few glittering drops from his torch upon them, and their good humor was restored directly. Indeed, no one could remain angry in his presence. "I just love Christmas," he confided to her each time she noticed the Christmas blessings he was bestowing. "The food, the families, the music. . . such a wonderful time of year, a magical time of year."

Now she stood and watched a family with three young children as they lit candles around the table and sat together holding hands. She could see the love shining out of the young father's eyes as he looked around the table at each member of his family. Victoria felt as though her insides were frozen and her blood had congealed to ice. Surely, her already broken heart had cracked still further. She couldn't imagine feeling any more wretched, but she found that she didn't care for herself. It was Diego she was worried about, Diego's heart and Diego's dreams that consumed her thoughts. If only she had thought more about him and less about herself before! They both cared about justice, but he understood more about compassion. He had devoted himself to caring for the people of Los Angeles, selflessly putting their needs above his own. He had born the burden of being Zorro, a hunted outlaw, all on his own. She had applauded him and rejoiced in his strengths, but she had never considered what sacrifices he was making to live his double life.

"Spirit, show me no more!" she pleaded. "I can't bear to see any more!"

In response, he touched her hand and led her away from the current scene. She found that now they were back in the quiet market square of the pueblo.

She looked up at her guide then and was perplexed. He seemed to have shrunk and grown older and frailer. His face was now lined, and his dark hair showed much gray and silver. His ornate Christmas suit also seemed somehow to have faded or yellowed. "But what is this, spirit?" she asked, concern for him showing in her voice. She helped him to sit down on a bench.

"It is nothing, Señorita. My time is nearly past. The season is nearly over. I will go now to join my brothers who have walked this earth in years gone by."

"Brothers?" she asked. "I, too, have brothers," she remarked. "It is good to be with family at this time of year. I wish that I were not alone. Have you a large family, spirit?"

"Sí, Señorita," he smiled. "There are more than eighteen hundred of us."

"Eighteen hundred!" she gasped. "Such a large family! What celebrations you must have!"

"Do you still not understand, Señorita? What is the Christmas season but a time for sharing with those we love and treasure, a time for being with friends and family? Each of my brothers has walked this earth for one Christmas, spreading the love and joy of the season. It is a season for love, for forgiveness, and for second chances, Señorita Escalante. It has been said, 'Do not let the sun go down on your anger,' and that is a very wise saying. But now I must leave you. Wait here, and you will receive the visit of the third spirit, who will show you shades of things to come."

"Please don't go!" she entreated, trembling with fear and anticipation. But he had already disappeared.


	5. Stave 5:The Last of the Spirits

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of the New World Zorro material, nor am I profiting by writing this story. Stave, by the way, is a musical term for a set of verses or a stanza. The title of this stave is freely borrowed from Dickens. Feliz Navidad! **

**Stave Five: The Last of the Spirits**

After the second spirit had gone, Victoria sat still there in the hushed silence of the pueblo. She looked up at the sky to see the constellations and was startled to see that all was now again in total darkness. The sky held neither stars nor moon. A chill breeze ruffled her hair as she pulled her shawl more tightly around her.

Suddenly, she heard the mission bell tolling twelve. Twelve? Could it be that a whole night had passed again? As the final stroke of twelve was still reverberating loudly upon the air, she lifted up her eyes to the distance and was startled to perceive that a dark shadow was moving towards her. Phantom-like, it glided like a mist coming toward her – slowly, silently, gravely. And then the deep black shadow stood beside her. It wore a long, hooded robe which left its figure and face shrouded in dark folds of fabric. She could see not see the spirit's face, nor guess at its gender. Nothing of the spirit was visible save for that one outstretched hand. It spoke not a word but merely stood before her pointing toward her tavern.

Victoria bowed her head humbly. "Spirit of the future, I fear you most of all," she confessed on a trembling whisper. "But I understand that your visit is somehow meant to do me good, and I am resolved to learn the lesson which you set before me, no matter how difficult it may be to bear. I am ready. Lead me where you must. Show me what you will."

Without a sound, Victoria found herself back in her second floor bed chamber at her tavern. The dark-clad spirit still stood beside her like an ominous shadow. Again, she was an unseen and unheard spectator in a drama involving herself, one which she understood to be sometime in her future. The Victoria enacting the scene was sitting on her bed when her window began to open slowly. Both Victorias watched as Zorro tentatively entered. He came in slowly, stealthily, and a little apologetically. The woman on the bed whirled to face him. Heart in her throat, the woman in the shadows stepped forward and stretched out her hand, but she remembered instantly that she could not participate in or alter this scene. " Surely," she thought to herself, "this is where I fall on my knees and beg his forgiveness."

"Victoria, Querida," Zorro was saying. "I could not bear to close this day with our conflict still unresolved. Since you would not read my letter, I can only plead once more in person that you will at least allow me to explain and to answer any charges you may have against me. I want..."

The woman on the bed stood up and interrupted harshly, "You want me to pretend that we have a future together! It would be a lie! You have given me five years of lies! Save your breath."

"Victoria," he said in his sternest, most commanding Zorro voice. "Stop this nonsense and listen to me! I love you, and I can't live without you. Listen to reason!"

"I told you to leave and never return to my tavern," she said coldly. "I will show you that you can't trifle with Victoria Escalante!" She hurried toward the still-open window and cried, "Guards! Lancers! Alcade! Zorro is here!"

Victoria the watcher wrung her hands in despair. "No! No! You fool!" burst from her lips passionately as she launched herself forward. But she found that she could not move. It was as if her feet were weighted with lead and she was swimming through a dense fog. Even though she strained every muscle, she could not move, and she felt her energy and strength being drained by the shadowy figure at her side. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I cannot interfere. It. . . it won't happen again."

"Querida," Diego gasped in a broken, ragged voice. "I would not have believed it of you. Adios, cruel senorita," he almost dove from the window.

Everyone in the room, actor and watchers, heard the echo of much gunfire. The cruel Victoria rushed to the window and gasped out, "Dios! What have I done?!" Uncertain whether Zorro had been shot, she leaned down and ran her hand over the window sill where something round and suspiciously red glinted. She sighed in relief when she saw it was a red rose petal. Gunfire could still be heard in the distance. Victoria the watcher suddenly lost consciousness; at least, that it what she always supposed must have happened.

When she regained her senses, she saw that the scene had changed. She stood beside the dark robed figure once again. They were in the back of the pueblo church now. The pews were full, and Victoria saw with surprise that there were several people from nearby pueblos in attendance. She noticed the coffin then. It sat quietly at the front of the nave, a dark box strewn with flowers. It was a closed casket, and she wondered who had died and why the people were not permitted to look on his face as they said their farewells. She dreaded the answer and turned toward her spirit guide. He stood impassive as always, but his finger pointed inexorably toward the closed casket. Unwillingly, she took a step forward and walked to the front of the church. It was then that she noticed that it was Don Alejandro who sat stiffly and forlornly in the front pew. Felipe was beside him, and he was openly weeping. Victoria looked around in vain for Don Diego, but she already knew she would not find him. She fell to her knees beside the coffin and laid her cheek across its wooden surface. There, unseen by anyone, tears slid down her cheeks to wet the wood and fall onto the petals of the white and red roses which surrounded the casket.

Padre Benitez was there speaking quietly. He appeared to be delivering a eulogy for the deceased man.

"Our brother, Don Diego, whom we also knew and loved as Zorro, goes now to his final rest. Let us not mourn as those who have no hope, but let us rejoice in the passion for justice, truth, and mercy which crowned his every action. Let us give thanks for the lives he saved that Christmas night even while he lost his own. You must know that he risked his life for you, the people of Los Angeles and the surrounding area, repeatedly. Let us turn his passion and commitment to good purpose. He longed to see the day when you would all be prepared to defend yourselves, when you would work together as men and brothers to defend your loved ones and your homes. My children, do not let his death be in vain."

Victoria watched as the people filed past the coffin and came to embrace or shake hands with Don Alejandro and Felipe. She could hear what they murmured as they passed by.

"Don Diego was such a good man. I appreciated the courage of Zorro, but it was Diego's knowledge and generosity that saved my farm from drought," one gaunt, wrinkled farmer was saying.

"I am so sorry, Don Alejandro," a woman was saying as she wrung his hand. "When my son lay dying of fever, Zorro rode off to find the medicine he needed, and Diego stayed by his side for days nursing him. Now, I learn too late that I am indebted not to two separate men but to one, one whom we will all miss very much."

The next man filed past. He was neatly dressed in a caballero suit and was obviously someone of importance whom Victoria had never seen before. "Don Alejandro de la Vega, I am Juan Alvarez, from Monterrey. I wish that we had met under better circumstances, but I came to tell you that I heard your son speak before the governor, and you should be very proud of the young man you raised. I was an avid follower of all the editorials he published in the_ Guardian_. His tragic death is quite a loss to us all."

A small group from the local Indian settlement stopped before the grieving Alejandro next. Their leader held out in his hand in friendship. "Your son, it seems, was quite the hero. Zorro defended us many times, but it was Diego's commitment to teach us the science of farming and the art of mining that improved the lives of every member of our village. I never met a European who cared so much for my people. He will be missed."

And so it went on. Everyone who spoke to Don Alejandro seemed to have higher praise for quiet, unassuming Diego than for the daring and heroic deeds of el Zorro. Victoria's cheek was growing numb against the wood of the coffin, and the petals of the roses were liberally drenched in her tears, but still she did not move until the last mourner had filed past.

Padre Benitez was standing in front of Alejandro and Felipe now. He stretched out his hand to the older man. "Don Alejandro, what can I say that has not been said already? Zorro and Diego were both my friends. I suspected his secret identity for some time. Can you forgive me for not saying anything? Perhaps if I had not kept his secret, things may have turned out differently," the kindly priest murmured.

"No, Padre, this is not your fault. This is mine. How could I not have known my son well enough to realize that he was Zorro? I see it all clearly now. And I called him a coward..." his voice trailed off sadly.

Felipe grabbed Don Alejandro's arm and signed frantically and angrily. "Where is Señorita Escalante?" Alejandro interpreted. "I do not know, Felipe. It does seem odd that she did not even come."

Felipe continued to sign.

"No, no. That is not fair. You cannot say that she caused his death," reprimanded Don Alejandro.

"No!" murmured Victoria the watcher. "I caused his death! _I _caused his death! Oh, Diego, how I love you! I am so sorry!" she cried, but no one save the dark robed figure heard her. She looked up suddenly to find another pair of eyes upon her. Way in the back of the church, half-hidden in shadows, sat the sad-faced, silver-haired mysterious woman. She was clad all in black and was weeping into a black handkerchief. Her eyes met Victoria's for a moment, and the younger woman quailed beneath her gaze, unable to read the emotions in her dark eyes. Was it regret? pity? loathing? Victoria shuddered convulsively and seemed to lose consciousness again as the darkness rushed up to meet her.

She could not say how the scene transformation had come about, but now she found herself in the familiar old graveyard. The dark and foreboding figure of the hooded and robed guide still stood beside her. He was pointing inexorably toward a family burial plot. Victoria walked in the direction he indicated and was not surprised to see a large monument in the de la Vega plot for Diego; still, it pained her to see it. The grass had grown over the grave, and she did not know how long had passed since the last scene in the church. The grave was strewn with red roses. As she glanced around, she gradually became aware that the graveyard was larger and fuller than she remembered seeing it before. Then she suddenly froze. Beside the grave of Diego, she saw now the stones for Don Alejandro and Felipe, both of whom had died in 1829 on the same day. Their graves appeared much newer than Diego's.

She turned and appealed to her guide. "Spirit, what does this mean? What happened?" she gasped, but he could not respond. He merely pointed to a team of four men, groundskeepers, who were nearing the de la Vega plot.

"Sí, it is a great pity," one man was commenting.

"If Don Diego had been alive, I am sure the outcome would have been different," another observed.

"Sí," agreed the third, "Don Diego would have been more than a match for any banditos. To think that they were so brazen as to rob the de la Vega hacienda in broad daylight. As it was, I heard that the old man and Felipe fought valiantly. One more swordsman would have turned the tide in their favor."

"Sí, such a pity," the first speaker said again. "I was there that night Zorro died. I was in the orphanage the night he saved us all from the fire. He was magnificent. He had already been shot earlier that night, but it did not stop him from fighting the fire and carrying us children to safety. I would not be alive if he had not been so brave."

"But how did Diego die?" insisted Victoria, "Tell me! How did he die! What happened?" But her question went unheard and unanswered.

Suddenly, the mysterious woman in black stood beside her. Her brown eyes met Victoria's, and she seemed to read condemnation there – condemnation and pity. Victoria stared in a mixture of revulsion and fascination. The woman's feet were bare and bleeding.

"How did he die?" rasped the old woman. "I will tell you. That terrible night, as Zorro left your window, he was shot and seriously wounded. He began the journey back home to the de la Vega hacienda. But on the way, he saved a stage coach from banditos and was injured again. Perhaps more dead than alive, he turned toward home once more, but then he saw the light and smoke of a fire from the direction of the orphanage. It was then that he remembered that he and Senorita Escalante were supposed to visit the orphanage to play a role in the Padre's Christmas plans. Since they did not appear, the plans went awry. Christmas candles burning unattended apparently started the orphanage on fire. By the time Zorro arrived there, the building was engulfed in flames, and people were trying to rescue the children trapped in the building. Zorro climbed to the second story and rescued the ten children trapped in an upper room. They all made it out unharmed, but he did not. At the last moment, Zorro jumped from the window, but he was burned so badly that the Padre knew there was no hope. He died in the arms of Padre Benitez, and his last words were, 'Tell Victoria, I'm sorry. I always loved her.'" The woman's words died away on a bitter sob.

"And what happened after that?" asked Victoria with some trepidation.

"What more is there to tell? Broken by guilt, Señorita Escalante sold the tavern and went on a long journey for penance. She went to Spain where she walked the Camino de Santiago, the Way of St. James, in Santiago de Compostela. She went through depths of hell and agony that no mortal can understand unless she has experienced the like. At last, she returned to Los Angeles, but there was nothing here for her either. By that time, Felipe and Don Alejandro were dead and buried as well. She never married; she never had children; she never found peace." The woman's voice fell silent as she raised the black handkerchief to her eyes once again.

"Dear Mother," said Victoria humbly, "Can I do something to help you?"

"It is I who hope to help you," she whispered brokenly. She turned away from Victoria and laid a single rose on Diego's headstone. Then Victoria lost consciousness again as the cold wind swirled around her.

When she became aware of her surroundings again, she found herself once more in the cemetery. The church building and the graveyard were looking small and derelict. The weeds were overgrown, and the fence leaned crazily at odd angles. It must surely be many years later. Beyond it, she could see that pueblo de Los Angeles was still a small pueblo. She was shocked to see the landscape looking like a barren wasteland.

She looked toward the de la Vega plot and was not surprised to see the mysterious woman there again. This time, however, she was kneeling, almost stretched out across Diego's grave. Her hands were trembling as she placed flowers there – deep red roses. "I want nothing more than to be with you, my love. I could not be with you in life, but perhaps I can be with you in death. Forgive me." Then she turned and looked Victoria full in the face. Victoria was shocked by the deep furrows of sorrow and grief etched on her face. She must once have been beautiful, but now, she looked as though some unspeakable horror had eaten away at her. Victoria's heart gave a sickening lurch, and she crumpled to the ground.

Then the scene swirled and shifted again. Victoria was back in the graveyard, but it was obviously years later. Her guide was beside her, as silent, dark, and inexorable as ever. The mysterious woman was nowhere in sight. There was a new grave beside the de la Vega plot now. One man was kneeling beside the grave and carefully placing red roses across the mound. The spirit raised its hand again and pointed toward the new grave. Victoria stepped forward, gripped in some new horror of understanding. She was not surprised when she read the name inscribed on the simple headstone: Victoria Escalante, died 1877.

"Spirit, please," entreated Victoria, falling on her knees to the ground and clutching at the spirit's dark robes. "I am not the same foolish girl I was when this spirit journey began! Assure me that I yet may change these shadows, that I may avoid that unhappy fate, for Diego's sake and my own. Why show me these things, spirit, if it is too late and I am past all hope of reclamation? Surely, it is not too late? Oh, please give me some word of hope!"

The spirit said nothing, but the man who knelt beside the grave suddenly turned and smiled at her tentatively. "Señorita Escalante," he said. "My name is Fernando, and I am here to help you and Don Diego, who is very dear to me and has been fulfilling his commission as given by the One who sent me."

Victoria looked closely at him to see whether he, too, might be one of her spirit visitors. He was a kind looking man, about the age of Don Alejandro. His hair was receding and thinning, but curly, iron gray hair surrounded his balding crown and gave him a friendly, benign appearance. He was wearing a modest caballero suit consisting of a pale blue jacket and matching pants with silver scrollwork and a relatively plain white shirt. He was wearing somewhat improbable golden sandals with an extra curling piece of material in front of his toes, and he wore those sandals over green stockings.

"I really must apologize for my footwear," he smiled when he saw the direction of her glance. "I hadn't realized I would be coming, so I didn't reserve a pair earlier. The Christmas season is a busy time of year, you realize."

"Oh, sí, of course," she murmured in some confusion.

"Señorita Victoria, I am here to set things straight, but that depends on you," Fernando announced.

"On me?" she asked in disbelief. "But I don't understand what is happening. Why am I here? Why I am _there_?" she pointed at the grave. "How could I meet myself?"

"These are shadows of the future, as you know," he answered.

"But can they be changed? Why show me these things if I am past all hope of repentance?"

"That, as I said, depends on you."

"I don't understand."

"I have been sent to let you see what could happen if you let your temper rule both your heart and your head. I have been sent to let you see what could happen if you harden your heart against forgiveness, both for Diego and for yourself."

"Please," she gasped imploringly. "Please, I will do anything to prevent this from happening! Please, save Diego if you can. I would give anything not to have hurt and betrayed the man I love, the man who has done so much for so many people. I don't care what happens to me!"

"Señorita, I have a simple message for you if you can receive it. The message may be simple, but you must be willing to work a lifetime at putting it into practice: Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."

"Why that is from the Bible!' she exclaimed, recognizing the words at once. "I remember that my grandmother stitched those words on her sampler as a girl. I have her needlework still in my room."

"Sí, your grandmother was forced to stitch those verses on her sampler because she, too, struggled with her temper. She hung the sampler on her wall so that she would read those words each and every day."

Victoria smiled through her tears. "I did not know that," she admitted. "My grandmother was a beautiful and loving woman. I never knew her to say an angry word to anyone in my life. But she was also a strong woman. She would never back down against injustice. I was always very proud of her."

"Ah, just so," Fernando nodded wisely. "Then ask forgiveness _from_ Diego; give forgiveness _to_ Diego. And accept forgiveness for yourself, Señorita. What better time than Christmas to learn this lesson?"

"Gracias," she whispered brokenly. But when she looked up, he was gone. The dark shrouded spirit was also nowhere to be found. She was alone once again. She knelt to the ground and began to pray in earnest.


	6. Stave 6: The End of It

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of the New World Zorro material, nor am I profiting by writing this story. Stave, by the way, is a musical term for a set of verses or a stanza. The title of this stave is freely borrowed from Dickens. Feliz Navidad! **

**Stave Six: The End of It**

When Victoria finished praying, she felt cleansed and renewed. She opened her eyes to find that was kneeling on her bedroom floor beside her very own bed, but she had no recollection of how she had gotten there. Victoria rose to her feet and ran to the window. She gazed in amazement. It was a clear, bright, sunny day. The air was crisp and invigorating. The church bell was pealing merrily. The decorations in the town square and the merry costumes on the citizens hurrying to and fro still looked festive and spoke of the Christmas season. She had lost all sense of time and place in her whirlwind tour with the spirits. She found herself uncertain which events had occurred already and which had not. Dare she hope? She hastily pulled on a skirt and blouse, and as she did so, an envelope fluttered from the folds of the fabric. It was a large envelope from a fine stationer in Madrid, and it was addressed to her in a bold, masculine hand. She ripped it open with trembling hands and found that, miraculously, it was Don Diego's letter. So, whatever had happened, the letter had not burned in the fireplace. She read it through hurriedly, reading his explanation for why he had been forced to become Zorro and why he had kept the secret from her. It was a good letter, and she could read his true feelings for her in every line. Diego loved her unconditionally! Diego loved her, and there still was hope! She folded the letter up carefully and placed it beneath her pillow for more careful reading later. Then she rushed into the streets to join the people heading toward the church. She still felt detached and as though she were walking in a dream. As of yet, no one had spoken to her, and she was not completely certain that the events were real and in the present.

She entered the hushed interior of the church, and she blinked as her eyes began to adjust to the shadows within. The church was still decorated for Christmas, and everything looked reverent, holy, and joyous. Her troubled spirit responded to the peaceful calm, and she found herself breathing normally for the first time in what seemed like weeks. As she made the sign of the cross and bent her knees in reverence, she hurriedly took her place in the pew and exchanged a quick nod with her neighbors. Then she scanned the church for any sign of the de la Vegas. Don Alejandro, Don Diego, and Felipe were all there in their usual pew. She gave a sigh of relief. If Diego was still here, then surely it was not too late. The spirits had done it all in one night, but then why shouldn't they? Victoria said a humble prayer of thanksgiving for the grace she had been given, the grace of second chances.

Padre Benitez delivered a homily about Christmas joy, love, and forgiveness. He spoke about the love and forgiveness offered to the human race by the selfless love of the Father and the Christ child. Tears streamed down Victoria's cheeks, unheeded, as she drank in the message. How she needed that forgiveness! How glad she was that the Christ child had come! The message brought hope and healing into her heart, but she knew the first step was to seek Diego's forgiveness. She had wronged him grievously.

After the service was over, Victoria felt suddenly shy. Did she dare rush up to Diego and simply open a conversation as though nothing had happened? Should she apologize here in public? She immediately decided that that was too risky. She couldn't jeopardize his secret and his safety just to soothe her troubled conscience. She decided very quickly what she must do to gain a hearing with Diego.

"Feliz Navidad, Victoria," exclaimed Don Alejandro. "We were so sorry that you were not feeling well enough to come to our Christmas Eve party last night. We certainly missed your bright face among our guests, didn't we, Diego?"

Diego didn't even glance at her as he replied quietly, "Sí, Father. We greatly missed Senorita Escalante's presence. I trust you are feeling better now," he said politely as he half-turned toward her. She noticed that he was careful not to meet her eyes.

"Diego," she said suddenly, laying a hand gently across his sleeve for an instant and rushing her words so as not to lose her courage. "I wonder if you could help me for a few moments in the tavern. There are some heavy boxes I was not able to get moved yesterday, and I would greatly appreciate your help. It shouldn't take very long."

"Certainly, Señorita," he agreed, but she couldn't read his emotions. Was he glad? reluctant? angry?

"In that case, perhaps I can help, too," suggested Don Alejandro.

"No," Victoria and Diego both said in unison, and they smiled briefly at each other. It was Diego who recovered first. "I am sure that I can handle it, Father, and you were going to talk to Don Emilio about his new bull, remember?"

"Ah, yes, well if you're certain," Don Alejandro's voice faded off as he excused himself.

Diego gallantly offered Victoria his arm, and she took it. If he noticed that she was trembling, he kindly refrained from mentioning it. Neither spoke as they left the sanctuary and stepped out into the street. They crossed the plaza and entered the tavern in silence. Victoria bolted the door behind them and led Diego to a small table. He automatically pulled a chair out for her and then seated himself across from her.

Now that the moment had come, she found that her mouth had gone dry. She put one hand on the table, almost to steady herself against her swirling emotions, and he immediately reached out and covered her hand gently and reassuringly with his own. She hadn't expected that, and it made her eyes swim briefly, but she blinked the tears determinedly away.

"Diego," she began on a tremulous whisper, "Please forgive me. I don't know how you ever can. I don't know what came over me. I am so ashamed, so ashamed." She swallowed hard, and he pressed her hand comfortingly. "Please forgive me. Ever since I was a little girl, I have let storms of anger sweep over me. I told myself it was okay as long as I directed my anger at things that deserved it – righteous anger, I called it. But I can no longer fool myself. What I said to you, what I did to you was unforgivable." A tear slid down her cheek, and Diego reached up gently to brush it away with his other hand. His warm thumb lingered against her cheek for a moment. With the hand that still held firmly to hers, he caressed the back of her wrist, encouraging her to go on. She appreciated how he could just rest and listen, not rushing to fill up the silence between them. "I would give anything to turn back the clock and not hurt you. I don't even know why I did it. And the things I said to you. . . I didn't mean them. Now you have seen me for what I am – a headstrong and haughty girl who must learn to control her temper and not act rashly without thinking. If you can forgive me, if you can love me, I promise that I will never hurt you like that again. Diego, I love you. . ."

"Querida," he whispered. "I gladly forgive you. Look here." He pulled a carefully wrapped package from his jacket pocket and gently unfolded it to reveal two roses . They were both a velvety crimson red color. One was nestled against its stem with a fringe of leaves and thorns. The other was simply a beautiful flower on a stem that had been stripped bare – the thorns had been removed by someone hoping to avoid the hidden danger. "Which one is more beautiful?" he asked, almost rhetorically. "Is it this one, the one rendered tame and innocuous? It is lovely," he held the rose up briefly and passed it over to her. "Or is it this one? Glorious in all its fierceness and wildness, natural, beautiful but a little bit dangerous." He held the second rose to his lips and then passed it over to her as well. "Which do you prefer? I know which one I would choose." He looked at her significantly.

"The one with the thorns looks more beautiful," she admitted at last.

"So it does. I quite agree with you. And a beautiful woman without some thorns is just as tame and uninteresting as this poor, timid rose," he leaned closer and took possession of both of her hands. "Querida, I love you, all of you. I know the risks. I love your commitment to justice, and I even love your fierce temper – as long as it is not trained on me," he added with a wry grin.

"But, Diego, I truly am ashamed. I saw things or dreamed things last night – I'm not quite sure, and you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you- but they left me changed. I could never do to you again what I did that night. I think I finally grew up. I want you to help me learn self-control and discernment. I want you to help me learn to school my tongue and my emotions."

"That's a tall order, Victoria. Sometimes I can't even do that successfully for myself," he admitted.

"All I ask is that you teach me what you have learned. You always think first before you act, and you consider the consequences of your actions. I usually find out too late what those consequences are."

"And the consequences of being Zorro were that I have waited five long years to claim the woman I love, making her wait until she almost lost all hope or faith in me. I cannot say that I foresaw the cost. Zorro has often acted impulsively. I cannot take credit where there is none due. Remember: I am only a man; I am not the legend, and I don't want you to get the idea that I am somehow perfect."

"No, don't worry. You know I am far too outspoken to believe that you are above all criticism."

He laughed as he raised one of her hands to his lips and placed a kiss in her palm. "Sí, I imagine we may quarrel now and then. A de la Vega and an Escalante – sounds as potentially explosive as one of my experiments," teased Diego.

"But if we both hold each other accountable and are willing to forgive each other, surely we can succeed," she suggested.

"Certainly,Victoria, that's all I ever wanted - a partner. I don't want a tame rose. You are the only woman for me – strong-willed, independent, opinionated, witty, intelligent, and gloriously beautiful! I think our relationship can survive the occasional quarrel . . . After all, I'm told that making up is the best part," he added mischievously as he winked at her.

She rose from her seat at the table and came around to his side. There was still a little shyness in her manner, as if she couldn't quite believe all was forgiven. Diego rose from his chair and held out his arms to her. She flew into his embrace and held him tightly. "I am so sorry," she whispered into his ear as she brushed his cheek with her lips.

"Querida, Mi Rosa," he whispered. "I promise you, all is forgiven. You have more than made up for any pain you caused last night."

"I'm not quite done making it up to you," she said. She pulled his head down closer to hers and turned her lips up toward his. He kissed her gently and then pulled back to look into her eyes. "Will _you _forgive _me_? I never meant to deceive you, only to protect you. I see now that it was unfair to you. It was the coward's way out, and I am heartily sorry."

"Oh, Diego! After what I've done, how can _you _apologize?"

"Easily, Querida. We have both wronged each other. I consider my behavior largely responsible for yours, so you see, perhaps I need to apologize even more than you do."

"Of course, I forgive you! I love you, Diego. I think that I have loved you as Diego for quite some time now," she confessed simply. "It wasn't that I was so horrified at your being Diego. It was more the shock of knowing that you had been close to me every day, that you had been my best friend, and I had somehow completely overlooked the obvious."

"No more mask now. I ask you as the man, as plain and simple Diego: will you marry me?"

"Yes! Most definitely yes!" she confirmed. "Whenever and wherever you say. But I hardly think that you are plain or simple!"

He responded by kissing her again, a kiss full of more promise and commitment than he had shared with her before. "Oh, Querida," he whispered as he held her close.

"Diego, I've been such a fool!" she confessed. "If you had ever kissed me as yourself, I would have known who you were instantly."

She strengthened her hold around his neck and kissed him more intensely, and they were in danger of losing all track of time and their surroundings, but just then, they heard a distinct rap at the kitchen door.

"Who could that be?" she asked. The rapping continued insistently, and she turned reluctantly to answer the door.

When she opened it, there stood the man she had seen in her dream the night before. He was the man who had spoken so gently to her in the cemetery gardens. From behind her shoulder, Diego's welcoming voice suddenly boomed, as he stretched out a hand to shake the visitor's hand, "Fernando! Feliz Navidad! Mucho gusto! I am delighted to see you!"

"And I you, dear Diego," he nodded toward Victoria also, "and Señorita Victoria."

"What brings you here now, Fernando?" asked Diego. Victoria was amazed that Diego seemed to know this man and to be carrying on a perfectly rational conversation with him.

"I am just tidying up a few details," Fernando smiled mysteriously. "I think perhaps I interrupted at a good moment." Both Diego and Victoria blushed. Fernando smiled benignly, "Everything in good order and in its proper time, amigos. You will be needing this, I surmise." He turned to Diego and handed him something small that flashed in the light. Diego stretched out his hand and found, to his amazement, that it was his mother's ring. Diego immediately showed it to Victoria, who insisted that he put it on her finger right there and then.

"There is one more thing," said Fernando with another kindly smile. "Listen carefully." The couple did so, and they could hear wild celebratory yells coming from the plaza. "Why don't you go see what it is?" he suggested. "And wear this, one last time." Fernando handed Diego his suit of Zorro clothing.

Diego looked at him in astonishment.

"Sí, amigo, you heard me correctly. One last time. Thank you for your faithfulness and your sacrifice. I release you at last, Zorro. Feliz Navidad, Diego."

Diego shook his hand again. "Feliz Navidad, Fernando. Muchas Gracias." The light and shadows inside the kitchen seemed to twinkle slightly as though the air were bending or popping, and Victoria had to blink her eyes several times before she decided that she really had seen a man just vanish into thin air.

Diego chuckled at her expression then turned serious, "I know the kind of dreams or visions Fernando brings. It was just what I needed at the time, but it was not easy to take. I can only guess that your experience was as difficult as mine. Are you okay?" For a response, she leaned into his arms trustingly and murmured, "I am now that I'm here with you. I'll tell you about my nightmare sometime if you'll tell me about yours."

Diego put both his hands gently on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. "It's a deal." Then he cupped her chin in his hands and turned her face up toward his. "I love you, Victoria," he whispered. He pulled her towards him and kissed her soundly, leaving her standing there breathless while he hurried into the storage closet to change into Zorro, hardly daring to believe that this really was the last time. A few minutes later, they stepped into the plaza together to see what the excitement was about.

A man in a strange uniform was standing in the middle of the town square reading a proclamation. It seemed that the Mexican Revolution, which had been raging sporadically for several years, had finally reached California. "Don Ignacio De Soto, you are a disgrace to your office. You are hereby exiled to Spain. The boat leaves at six o'clock tomorrow morning, and you will be on it. If you set one foot in Mexico or California again, we have orders to shoot you on sight. I hereby pardon the outlaw named Zorro and apologize to the people that such a champion was ever necessary. Zorro may reveal his identity to the people of this pueblo to receive their thanks. He need never fear reprisals." The man paused and looked around expectantly. The crowd in the pueblo cheered and began shouting, "Zorro! Zorro!"

Diego looked at Victoria for a long moment. "What do you want me to do?" he whispered.

"You deserve this moment," she said. "And so do they." She pulled him gently toward the center of the crowd, and hand-in-hand, they mounted the steps where the soldier stood.

"Dear people of Los Angeles, thank you for allowing me to serve you all these years," said Zorro in a loud, commanding voice. "And now, when I am about to retire the mask, I ask only that you let the memory of Zorro live as a legend to inspire us. Let me fade into the background and live amongst you as a normal man, your neighbor. I don't want your praise. I don't want to be a hero. I only did what I had to do, what needed doing. Let us look to our future now and work together to make it a glorious one for our children and our children's children." He raised his hand in a salute and acknowledged their thunderous applause. Then he raised his hand once again to request silence. "There is one thing I always promised to do if ever this moment came. Senorita Victoria Escalante has done me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife, but I promised her that I would proclaim my love and devotion from the very rooftops, so if you will indulge me in this one last thing. . ." He scrambled lithely to the tavern and pulled himself up on the roof. There he stood and then gave her a sweeping bow. "Señorita Escalante, this humble outlaw acknowledges that you are the love of his life, the one woman in all the world that he longs to call his wife! Finally, I may lay aside this mask and claim you as my own!" Diego whipped off his mask dramatically, and the crowd gasped. In the silence that followed, Diego, now unmasked, addressed his love once again, "Victoria, I love you! Will you marry me?"

"Sí, Señor Zorro. I love you, Diego!" she called back. "My answer is and always will be yes!"

The whole pueblo cheered, and most of the women wiped tears from their eyes. Sergeant Mendoza mopped his eyes unashamedly with his handkerchief.

Diego continued, "In honor of our betrothal celebration, you are all invited to the tavern this evening at 8 o'clock for a small fiesta. You are also all invited to our wedding, which I hope will take place in about a month if the good Padre will consent to read the banns for the first time this Lord's Day." His voice took on a teasing and playful tone as he added, "I for one don't know if I can be patient much longer than that."

The whole crowd laughed as Diego scrambled down gracefully and returned to Victoria's side. He put his arm around her and stood for a moment to let the people mill around and offer congratulations.

Don Alejandro rushed up and threw his arms around Diego. "Son, I am so sorry. And I am so proud of you!" he said as he crushed Diego in an exuberant hug.

Diego hugged him back and whispered, "I love you, too, Father. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before."

"Feliz Navidad, Diego."

"Feliz Navidad, Father."


End file.
